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"-absolutely not, Edwin! The very idea-"
"Helena, I got it for a song! They’re practically giving them away down at Clyde. Think of the practical applications! The students need to understand how these things work if they’re going to learn how to defend against them-"
"I don't care how cheap it was or how many 'practical applications' you can list, we are not demonstrating a…what did you call it?”
“A PIAT. Stands for Projector, Infantry, Anti Tank, it’s like a bomb thrower-”
“We are NOT demonstrating a Muggle bomb thrower on the viaduct!"
"It’s a small one! Man-portable! I modified it to shoot Fizzing Whizbangs."
"Modified it? Need I remind you about the incident with that accursed Muggle Jeep you ‘modified’?"
"Seemed only fair to let the students have a go at driving it after they started it up."
"You ruined the Flying Lawn and nearly destroyed the greenhouse!"
"Yes, but this time absolutely nothing can go wrong. Professor MacLeod agrees that-"
"Malcolm MacLeod would agree to letting you demonstrate Greek Fire in the library if you promised him front row seats! The answer is NO!"
"What if we did it off-grounds? By the lake? The merfolk were quite interested when I was testing the Muggle LVT-4 amphtrack that we got from the Ministry last summer. They even helped me fish it out after it sank-"
"EDWIN WHITBY, DID YOU TEST EXPERIMENTAL MUGGLE MACHINERY IN THE-"
- Overheard in the Transfiguration Courtyard, August 30th, 1947
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Professor Edwin Whitby's Muggle Studies classroom looked like someone had raided a dozen Edinburgh charity and military surplus shops. Telephone parts lay scattered across one table, a partially dismantled wireless set occupied another, and a mannequin wearing a complete U.S. Army paratrooper’s uniform (complete with helmet painted with a white spade) stood in one corner like a sentinel. The mannequin was enchanted to salute passing students and utter incomprehensible phrases like: "We're paratroopers, we're meant to be surrounded!" and "Remember boys, flies spread disease. So keep yours closed!"
In the front of the classroom underneath the chalkboard squatted a chunky wooden device, as tall as a person, with large oblong buttons lit up and flashing invitingly.
"Ah, Mr. Semmes. Our newest Gryffindor. Welcome!" Professor Whitby bounded over with a slight limp, the round sunglasses that he wore in all weather gleaming. His carefully parted hair and clean-shaven face made him look younger than his thirty-five years. "Perfect timing! I was just telling Mr. Mossflower here about my newest acquisition, straight from New York City!” he gestured proudly to the device while shaking Jack’s hand.
“You got a jukebox?” Jack asked, impressed. A gift from a wealthy Ilvermorny alum had only just installed one in the Thunderbird dayroom a year ago.
“You are familiar with its operation?” Whitby's enthusiasm somehow doubled. “I made a few minor enchantments, to increase its limited repertoire and make up for our lack of American Muggle currency. Can you believe that they charge their fellow Muggles nearly a Knut per song? Outrageous, monstrous, true excess!” His wide grin belied his criticism.
“So it works for free?” Jack approached the jukebox, still carrying his school bag.
“Yes, and better than that,” Whitby limped behind the machine and leaned on it, “I improved it with a thought-reading charm. Just tap it with your wand and it plays exactly the song you want to hear. About 95% of the time.”
“Professor,” Jack paused in front of the jukebox, examining it, “You’re supposed to work the buttons on it, you pick a record with this one and…”
“No no, Mr. Semmes, I know what I’m doing. Go ahead, try it!”
Jack skeptically drew his wand from his pocket.
"Professor, I really think that's a terrible-" Cyprian started to say from the back of the room, but Jack had already tapped the gleaming Wurlitzer.
The machine lit up like a Christmas tree. Multicolored lights began strobing across its chrome surface as the mechanical arm inside went berserk, selecting several records simultaneously. Then, with a sound like a million orchestras tuning up at once, it launched into song at the earsplitting volume of an air raid siren:
🎵 OVER THERE, OVER THERE! 🎵
Fireworks sprayed from the coin slot. Red, white, and blue sparklers erupted from the speaker grilles. The entire machine bounced from leg to leg like an enthusiastic drunk.
SEND THE WORD, SEND THE WORD, TO BEWARE!
Jack clapped his hands over his ears as dust was shaken from the ceiling and the windows rattled in their frames. His classmates dove for cover under their desks.
THAT THE YANKS ARE COMING, THE YANKS ARE COMING,
Through squinted eyes, Jack could see Professor Whitby beaming with pride and wearing a RAF flying helmet.
THE DRUMS RUM-TUMMING EVERYWHERE!
"Isn't it wonderful?" Whitby shouted over the din. "The enthusiasm! The patriotic fervor! The sheer Muggle ingenuity!"
"PROFESSOR!" Jack yelled back. "I THINK IT'S STUCK!"
"Nonsense!" Whitby called back cheerfully as a shower of golden sparks rained down around them. "It's working exactly as intended!
WE'LL BE OOOVER, WE'RE COMING OOOVER-
Professor Winterborn burst through the classroom door. "Edwin!! What in Merlin's name is-" She stopped dead, taking in the scene before her. The jukebox was now dancing the can-can while belting out its third repeat of the chorus.
"Ah, Professor Winterborn!" Whitby looked delighted. "Excellent timing! We're conducting a practical demonstration of American musical technology! Care to join us?"
"I believe," Winterborn bellowed over the cacophony, "that we discussed how your ‘teaching aids’ must be contained to a reasonable volume?!"
"Oh, very well," Whitby reluctantly raised his wand. "Just a minor adjustment..."
“AND WE WON’T COME BACK, ‘TIL IT’S OVER OVER THERE-”
-skrrt!
There was a record scratch as Whitby’s silencing charm took hold and muzzled the machine. The muffled whirring and faint clinking of internal gears gave one last defiant sputter before it fell still.
"Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen!" Whitby announced, sounding more amused than contrite as he flicked his wand to disperse the lingering wisps of smoke.
Jack’s classmates popped up from behind their desks like prairie dogs after a thunderstorm.
He saw Venge giving him a scornful look from his seat. He resisted the urge to flip him a rude hand gesture.
“Still a prototype,” Whitby continued, completely unbothered. “To be expected. Merlin’s drawers, perhaps that was a bit too loud. Some of the runed solder must have crossed a wire… fascinating stuff, really! I’ll just need to recalibrate the magical grounding field next time.”
He stepped back and surveyed the singed classroom as though this were all part of a perfectly normal Tuesday. “I really need a different classroom. Preferably somewhere further from the Transfiguration Courtyard. Perhaps down in the dungeons… must remember to ask Professor Vale about borrowing some space.
“Five points to Gryffindor, Mr. Semmes, for being our willing test subject! That reminds me of a fascinating digression on the historical significance of music in Muggle warfare. You can take a seat, Mr. Semmes.” Whitby swept his wand and banished the jukebox to a far corner. “Please pull out your quills and I’ll pass out the syl-…oh-” His eyes moved to the back of the room, where Professor Winterborn was glowering in the doorway.
“Edwin. A word,” she said in the same tone of voice that Jack had first heard before the welcome feast.
Professor Whitby smiled apologetically and hobbled briskly out of the classroom.
Jack, still rubbing his ears, began to head past Cassandra’s desk in the front row. She removed a pair of conjured earplugs from her ears and arched an eyebrow at him. Her lips twitched as she suppressed a smile. Was it at him, or Whitby’s antics? Next to her, an empty seat beckoned.
Jack's feet, operating independently from his brain, betrayed him. Fully intending to keep walking to an open seat in the middle of the room, he found himself sliding into the chair beside her instead.
He watched her expression shift from fleeting amusement to momentary dismay, finally settling on familiar iciness. Franklin’s kite, she was even cuter with the frown.
“In my defense,” Jack said to her, laying out his course materials, “I was thinking of ‘Five Minutes More’. You know, Sinatra.”
“Never heard of him,” she said, not looking at him.
There it is again, Semmes, Jack kicked himself mentally. What did you expect? You idiot. You’re stuck now. Can’t retreat. Might as well make the best of it. Dig in and fight.
“You haven’t heard of Frank Sinatra?” he asked, almost disbelievingly.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“No, I have not,” she replied, reaching into her school bag and pulling out their textbook: Murray and McAlister’s Marvelous Muggles.
“He’s a No-Maj,” Jack prompted.
“I do not listen to Muggle music, Mr. Semmes. Or…” she hesitated, and finally glanced at him. "what do you Americans call it? Jiving?"
"Jazz," Jack corrected, leaning forward and putting his elbow on the table. "And sure, I like Benny Goodman as much as the next guy, but Sinatra is the swellest," He performed a quick-step on the desk with his fingers. “He’s a great dancer too.”
“I’ve seen what you Americans call dancing,” Cassandra replied primly. “It’s hardly ballet.”
“We have dance classes at Ilvermorny.”
"I'm sure to the same exacting standards as the rest of your school," she said drily.
Jack pretended to not hear her, "My mom's crazy about Sinatra. Says he could charm a basilisk."
“That’s silly-” she began, then her eyes flickered to the side of the semicircular classroom. Jack followed her vision over to where Caeso Montfort was watching them with narrowed eyes.
Her expression frosted over.
Jack had a flash of understanding. Right, the Hightowers and Montforts. He was intruding on something. The origami bird…
Dang it! In his excitement he had forgotten to thank her for the tower incident. Stupid stupid STUPID Semmes!
He cleared his throat, “Sorry.” He pulled out his book and laid out his parchment, affecting a casual lean in the opposite direction. He’d have to find another opportunity to speak to her without Montfort or anyone other Ravenclaws hovering.
Professor Whitby chose that moment to return, looking mildly chastened and holding his flying helmet. "Right then! Where were we…oh yes! The course syllabus!”
“Now,” he limped behind his desk and tossed a pile of neatly printed syllabuses into the air. They zipped to each student’s place like playing cards. “You may note it’s a bit different from what the sixth-years took last term. I removed the lawnmower, jackhammer, and nitroglycerin demonstrations due to concerns from my colleagues on the curriculum review committee.
A mixture of disappointed groans and loud sighs of relief from the class.
“But!” Whitby said brightly, “Instead I added in several classes on various fascinating Muggle weapons which I acquired over the summer. Can you believe they’re just giving them away to anyone who asks?"
Martin Mossflower raised his hand, "Professor, how'd you get that approved?"
Professor Whitby leaned on his desk, "The key to navigating bureaucratic obstacles is understanding their structure. The curriculum review committee has a rulebook - updated last in 1894 - which states that any 'experimental lesson plans' are to be classified as 'provisional' until reviewed after at least one term of implementation. These provisional lessons require no committee approval."
He tapped the syllabus with a finger, his tone conspiratorial. "So, when I find an interesting demonstration, I classify it as a provisional 'Muggle cultural study' or a 'practical comparative analysis.' By the time the committee realizes I’ve taught seventh-years to load, dismantle, and reassemble a flamethrower, it's too late for them to block it. Their only recourse is to review the effectiveness of the lesson via student feedback. And it’s usually quite popular."
A few students snickered; others leaned forward, rapt.
"Now, the beauty of this." Whitby smiled broadly, "By the time they’ve officially reviewed one term’s lessons, I’ve already rotated it out for something fresh - leaving the committee eternally chasing last term’s syllabus. Keeps me comfortably ahead."
"But don’t they notice the...er, escalation?” Martin asked.
“Mr. Mossflower," Whitby waggled his wand. "It’s not escalation. It’s interdisciplinary learning! They love that word upstairs,” he gestured towards the Grand Staircase. “For instance, when I had the fourth-years build a trebuchet on the Flying Lawn, I framed it as an exploration of medieval siege tactics. This term’s automatic weapon dueling techniques? A modern extension of defensive magic. They hear 'duel' and assume wands are involved. I got Professor MacLeod to sign off on it."
“What happens if they catch on?” another student ventured.
Whitby waved dismissively. "By then, I’ll have sent them a thoroughly glowing course end report about how much you all learned and enjoyed yourselves. They rarely argue — especially when my electives are filled year after year and the feedback comes with quotes like ‘Professor Whitby’s lessons taught me invaluable life skills!’ and ‘It was the best term of my life.’ Of course, I might have to bribe you all into providing such feedback, but that’s a minor detail.”
The classroom burst into laughter, though a few students exchanged nervous glances. Whitby tapped his wand on the table, bringing them back to attention.
"This term we’ll be learning everything from gunpowder to rocketry and everything in between!” Whitby promised. “So let’s skip the syllabus review and begin today’s lesson: Comparative Practical Applications of Zip Lines and Grappling Hooks in defeating Muggle Security Systems!" He flicked his wand, and a coil of rope zipped across the room, attaching itself to the rafters. "Hope none of you are afraid of heights. Who wants to go first?"
Jack heard Cassandra shift her chair slightly away from him, but not before he caught the faintest hint of crushed juniper and lavender. He focused on Whitby's enthusiastic introductory lecture, trying to ignore both her perfume and the way his heart had started doing flip-flops in his chest.
The following study hall hour passed in a blur of half-finished essays and daydreams. At lunch, Jack barely registered what he was eating or his friends' conversations, his mind still replaying her almost-smile from Muggle Studies.
He sat down next to Eustace Grymes in Charms class.
"Hello Grymes, mind if I join you?" he asked.
“Not at all,” Eustace replied with a friendly nod, "Always good to have an outside perspective on practical magic."
Professor Brightwell proved to be a jovial wizard with a neat gray beard and kind eyes. He spent the first half of class outlining their N.E.W.T. preparation schedule and the syllabus for the edification of most of the section, who had not read it before coming to class as directed.
"Welcome to N.E.W.T. level Charms!" he announced, conjuring a piece of chalk that began writing on the board. "You've all proven your capabilities in your O.W.L.s, but now we begin the real work. First, however, we will lay out course expectations!" He then demonstrated some advanced animation charms that had the whole class eagerly taking notes.
“Mr. Semmes,” Brightwell called on him. “As our newest sixth-year, perhaps you'd demonstrate the Substantive Charm?"
Piece of cake. Jack stood. He pointed his wand at one of the wispy aerial ribbon decorations floating around the room, concentrating on the wand movement. "Solidarius!"
The ribbon stiffened as if frozen solid, becoming hard as stone while maintaining its low mass and filmy appearance.
"Excellent! And Mr. Grymes, the counter-charm?"
Eustace’s "Mollarius" flashed towards the ribbon, and it went limp instantly.
"Quite right! Now, paired practice. Remember, boys and girls, visualization is key..."
They spent the next hour working through fifth-year review material. Jack was grateful for his seatmate. Eustace proved very helpful, providing Jack a copy of his last term’s notes that showed a deep understanding of interconnected charm theory. Jack attempted to catch Cassandra after class but she walked past him in the hallway, calling out to Bianca Ludd.
Next came Herbology. Professor Blackthorn, a rail-thin witch with dirt perpetually under her fingernails, pinned Jack with a stern look the moment he entered Greenhouse Three.
"Our transfer. Tell me, Mr. Semmes, from last night’s reading, what's the proper method for harvesting Noxious Windbags?"
Jack silently thanked Teddy for warning him about Blackthorn's "welcome ritual" for the first day of class. "Muffling charm on the flower first, then cut at a forty-five degree angle below the second nodule, Professor."
"And why the angle?"
"Prevents the magical reaction that could trigger the defense mechanism in nearby plants."
The Hufflepuffs in the classroom looked disappointed. They'd obviously been hoping for some entertainment at his expense. Blackthorn's severe expression cracked into a slight smile. "Well well, someone did the reading. Five points to Gryffindor."
After class, Jack casually made his way to the enormous Chinese Chomping Cabbage that dominated the back of the greenhouse. While pretending to cautiously examine its leaves, he quickly levitated the massive pot and checked underneath it. There was indeed a piece of parchment, but it had been reduced to soggy pulp by the morning's watering. He could just make out "TOP SECRET" in running red ink before the note disintegrated completely in his hands.
The Great Hall was chaotic when he arrived for Club Night after classes. Tables had been pushed to the walls, creating space for dozens of small booths and displays. The Gobstones Club was demonstrating trick shots, while the Wizard Chess Society had set up a simultaneous exhibition. The Astronomy Club had charmed the ceiling to show various constellations, much to the first-years' delight. The Broom Racing Club has set up a tiny obstacle course for training brooms over in the corner. Jack looked around, feigning coolness while searching for any sight of…
"Semmes! Over here, old sport!" Henry waved him over to where the Quidditch teams had set up in the prime spot, right in front of the dais. "Help us convince these juniors that Americans don't actually kill the losing team after a Quodpot match."
"But Wiggy said-" a tiny first-year girl began.
“No,” Jack shook his head. “That’s only in Aztlan Hoop Blood Bowl. Been banned since the Spanish Wizarding Conquest.”
Some of the first-years moaned in visible disappointment.
Jack spotted the three agents of the Ministry of Ungentlewizardly Warfare huddled by the Dueling Club table, trying to look inconspicuous. They quickly hid notebooks behind their backs when they saw him approaching.
Jack sidled up to them and began talking to them out of the side of his mouth. “Gentlemen, I received the greenhouse message.”
Pal’s face bloomed into an enormous smile. “Yes?”
“Er,” Jack hadn’t bothered to think that part out. “I’m working on it.” He headed back to his friends.
"Irregulars hard at work?" Teddy asked upon Jack’s return.
"They’re all wet," Jack replied drily.
"Ah well," Henry clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm sure they'll have another top-secret mission for you soon. Here, I’m demonstrating the standard attack-v to the grubs. Listen up you lot, this is proper Quidditch, no more playing training brooms in your da’s backyard. Oliver, Jack, give us a hand will you?"
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For those who’d like to listen along to the Muggle music:
1. Over There (Written during the First Muggle Big War, but remained enduringly popular amongst MACUSA wizards in Europe during the War Against Grindelwald): https://open.spotify.com/track/3DftRGzij2ZsmpnCVXmIUc?si=fac3314d71384606 / https://youtu.be/kKx9oPyh0KM
2. Five Minutes More (#1 on the US Muggle pop chart on 14 September 1946, remaining there for four weeks): https://open.spotify.com/track/6QoZrtfcelwHjjXKjqPEcV?si=1d8f5bd998cc4679 / https://youtu.be/GvWEigjXVsI
🎄🎄🎄 BONUS CHRISTMAS CONTENT: 🎄🎄🎄
★★★★★ "Best professor ever!! Brought in a REAL Muggle G-Peep this term and let us drive it! Winterborn was SOOO ANGRY! Learned loads about e-leck-tricity. Must take if you want to understand Muggles. Safety goggles provided."
★★★★☆ "Good teacher but WHY does he keep bringing explosives to class?? Lost my notes twice but learned a lot. His lectures on the Muggle Battle of Britain were amazing."
★★★★★ "WHITBITES FOR LIFE!!! If you're not in his class you're missing out. He let us take apart a real Muggle motorcycle! Sure it melted but that's part of the fun! His wife brings us biscuits sometimes."
★☆☆☆☆ "Completely mental. Do not sit in front row. Spent the whole lecture on something called 'a-tom-mick fission' then demonstrated with a modified Blasting Curse. DO NOT SIT IN FRONT ROW."
★★★★★ "Most exciting class at Hogwarts! Never know what's going to happen. Got extra credit for helping him smuggle a Muggle wireless past Winterborn. His wife and 1-year-old son Ethan visit class sometimes and are absolutely adorable. Mrs. Whitby makes the best chocolate biscuits. Not bribery!"
★★★★☆ "Very knowledgeable about Muggle technology and warfare. Sometimes gets too excited and sets things on fire. Keep your Shield Charm ready. Great teacher though (if you survive)."
★★★★★ "Professor Whitby made me want to study Muggle engineering! Fair grader, amazing practicals (mostly safe), and actually understands how Muggle stuff works unlike most wizards. Plus his war stories are incredible. Whitbites forever!"
★★★★☆ "Look, the man knows his stuff, but there's got to be a safer way to learn about internal combustion engines. Still, never boring. Bring protective gear."
★★★★★ “Had Muggles Studies first hour. I never fell asleep in class.”
★★★★★ "Did my final project on countering Muggle firearms with him. Most fun I've ever had in class, even with the safety lectures from Professor Blackthorn afterwards."
★★★★★ "REAL MUGGLE ARMY VETERAN! Says he fought alongside Muggles in the big war! Actually knows what he's talking about! Yes there are explosions but they're EDUCATIONAL explosions! Best professor if you're serious about understanding the world."
* Anonymous Professor Feedback Forms for Term 1946-2, Hogwarts Archives
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